PENGUIN READERS I I! Cry, The Beloved Country
PENG UIN READERS"I-I!Cry, the Beloved CountryAlan Paton
g i5ffEu rTCry, theBeloved CountryALAN PATONLevel 6R eto ld by G. F. W ear and R . H . D urhamSeries Editors: Andy H opkins and Jocelyn PotterELEFANTAENGLISHTIPS.ORG
Pearson E d u cation L im itedEdinburgh Gate, Harlow,Essex C M 20 2JE, Englandand Associated Com panies throughout the world.ISBN: 978-1-4058-8263-7First published in the Bridge Series 1953by arrangem ent w ith C hatto and W indus LtdThis adaptation first published by Addison Wesley Longm an Ltdin the Longm an Fiction Series 1996N ew edition first published by Penguin Books Ltd 1999This edition first published 20081 3 5 7 910 8 6 4 2This edition copyright Pearson Education Ltd 2008T he publishers are indebted to Messrs. Jonathan Cape Ltdfor perm ission to use this editionT he moral rights o f the authors have been assertedTypeset by Graphicraft Ltd, H ong KongSet in 11 / 14pt Bem boP rinted in C hinaS W T C /01A ll rights reserved; no part o f this publication may be reproduced, storedin a retrieval system, or transmitted in any fo rm or by any means,electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without theprior written permission o f the Publishers.Published by Pearson Education Ltd in association w ithPenguin Books Ltd, both com panies being subsidiaries o f Pearson PicFor a com plete list o f the titles available in the Penguin R eaders series please w rite to your localPearson Longm an office or to: Penguin R eaders M arketing D epartm ent, Pearson Education,Edinburgh Gate, Harlow, Essex C M 20 2JE, England.
ContentspageIntroductionVBOOK ONEC hapter1T he Hills above the U m zim kulu1C hapter2T he Letter2Chapter3D eparture from N dotsheni7C hapter4Arrival in Johannesburg9C hapter5W elcome at the Mission House12C hapter6Clarem ont, the R ubbish-Pile o f the City17C hapter7John Kumalo21C hapter8T he Journey to Alexandra27C hapter9All Roads Lead to Johannesburg33C hapter 10T he R eform atory34C hapter 11M urder in Parkwold38C hapter 12T he Search for Absalom40C hapter 13W hy Fear the O ne Thing?44C hapter 14T he Prison45C hapter 15Father Vincent50C hapter 16Absalom’s Girl52Chapter 17T he Lawyer55
B O O K TW OC hapter1H igh Place59C hapter2T he Story o f a Stranger61C hapter3It Is N o t Acceptable63C hapter4T he Servant-Boy Recovers64C hapter5T he C ourt66C hapter6Gold in Odendaalsrust66C hapter7T he Heaviest T hing67C hapter8T he Great Bull Voice69C hapter9A nother M urder71C hapter 10T he Judgm ent72C hapter 11B rother Shuts O u t Brother74BOOK THREEC hapter1R etu rn to N dotsheni81C hapter2M ilk for the C hildren84C hapter3N o Forgiveness86C hapter4T he Dam87C hapter5Mrs Jarvis Dies87C hapter6R estoring the Valley89C hapter7T he Daw n Has C om e90Activities94
ELEFANTAENGLISHTIPS.ORGIntroductionW henpeople go to Johannesburg, they do not come back.Stephen Kumalo, minister o f the church in N dotsheni, a smallvillage in the South African province o f Natal, receives a lettertelling him that his sister is ill in Johannesburg. His son, Absalom,is also in Johannesburg, and Kumalo has not had news o f him forsome time. Kumalo must go to the city, but he has never travelledso far.We follow Kumalo in his search for G ertrude and Absalom.We also m eet his brother, John, w ho has becom e involved inpolitics and has lost his C hristian faith. In the city, Kumalo meetspeople w ho take advantage o f his simple, trusting nature, andothers w ho help him and his family. O n his journey he makesterrible discoveries.The background to the fictional story o f Cry, the Beloved Countryis the injustice o f the divided society o f South Africa, and thebreakdown o f the black tribal system.T he population o f South Africa includes people o f manydifferent origins: African, European, Indian and mixed race, butthe largest group (almost 80%) are black Africans. Racial problemsbetween the w hite m inority and the black m ajority are anim portant part o f the political history o f South Africa. Between1948 and 1994, the National Party (NP) governm ent m aintaineda system o f apartheid, a form o f strict, legalised racial separation.This policy, w hich m eant that black and w hite people were keptapart from each other, grew out o f earlier policies o f separation.Separation had already led to huge disadvantages for the m ajorityblack population, and had created a violent society. T he policies f separation were in force w hen Paton wrote this book.v
M any black people, especially m en, were leaving their familiesin the countryside and going to the big cities. They were poor,and the policies o f separation had forced black people to live inthe poorest parts o f the country, where the land was not good forgrowing crops and there was little paid work. In the cities, m encould find work and earn money, especially in the gold mines o fJohannesburg. However, they lived there w ithout their m othersand wives, far from the influence o f the tribal leaders w ho theyleft behind in the countryside. Although some w hite people weresympathetic to the situation o f black people, the racial laws madelife very hard for them . Young m en w ho could not find workoften stole and became criminals. W hite people were afraid o fthese black criminals, and the justice system dealt severely w iththem.In Cry the Beloved Country , through the stories o f StephenKumalo and his w hite neighbour, Paton shows how harmfulthe policy o f separation was for South African society —for thew hite population as well as for the black. T here are many biblicalreferences and echoes in the novel and the style o f writing; likeStephen Kumalo, Paton was a Christian. Kumalo s son, Absalom,is nam ed after the son o f King David, w ho rebelled against hisfather. St* Stephen was an early Christian w ho died for hisbeliefs.W hen Paton’s book was first published, many w hite SouthAfricans regarded it as either too em otional or too revolutionary.Later, in the 1970s and 80s, black readers doubted Paton s politics.However, m ore recently, N elson M andela has praised the bookfor its faith in the essential goodness o f people, and its author.Alan Paton, one o f South Africa’s most im portant writers,was b orn in Pieterm aritzburg, KwaZulu Natal, in 1903. After* St: the short form o f Saint
graduating from the University o f Natal, he becam e a teacher.As the principal o f the D iepkloof R eform atory for young (blackAfrican) criminals betw een 1935 and 1948, he introduced manyreforms; boys were allowed to work outside the reform atoryand even, in some cases, to live w ith families. This experienceo f w orking w ith the boys in the reform atory gave Paton anunderstanding o f the society he was living in, and particularly theliving conditions o f the black population.D uring the 1940s, Paton visited reform schools in Europe andthe U nited States. It was at this time that he began to w rite Crythe Beloved Country , w hich he finished in 1946. It was publishedin 1948 and became an international bestseller.In 1953, Paton started a political party, the South AfricanLiberal Party, to fight against the apartheid policies and lawsintroduced by the National Party. T he Liberal Party allowed bothblack people and w hite people to jo in it, and for this reason theruling National Party banned it in the 1960s. Paton continued tow rite and protest against apartheid, but he was unhappy aboutthe violent actions o f some m em bers o f the Liberal Party.Paton m arried D oris Francis in 1928, and they had two sons.Doris died in 1967, and in 1969 Paton m arried his secretary,Anne Hopkins. Paton s other books include two novels, Too Latethe Phalarope and A h , B ut Your Land is Beautiful; a collection o fshort stories, Debbie Go Home, and two volumes o f his life story,Towards the Mountain and The Journey Continued . H e died in 1988,just before the second volume was published.
BOOK ONEC hapter 1T h e H ills above the U m zim k u luThere is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills. Thesehills are grass-covered and rolling, and they are too lovely todescribe. T he road climbs 11 kilometres into them , toCarisbrooke; and from there, if there is no mist, you look dow non one o f the fairest valleys o f Africa. A bout you there is grassand you may hear the forlorn crying o f the titihoya,* one o f thebirds o f the grasslands. Below you is the valley o f theUmzimkulu, on its jo u rn ey from the Drakensberg M ountains tothe sea; and, beyond and behind the river, great hill after greathill; and beyond and behind them , the m ountains o f Ingeli andEast Griqualand.The grass is rich and thick; you cannot see the soil. It holds therain and the mist, and they sink slowly into the ground, feedingthe streams in every small valley. It is well looked after, and nottoo many cattle feed upon it; not too m any fires bu rn it,damaging the soil. Stand upon it w ithout shoes, for the ground isholy, being just as it came from God. Keep it, guard it, care for it,for it keeps men, guards m en, cares for m en.Destroy it and m an is destroyed.Where you stand the grass is rich and thick; you cannot see thesoil. But the rich green hills break down. They fall to the valleybelow, and, falling, change their nature. For they grow red andempty; they cannot hold the rain and mist, and the streams are dryin the small valleys. Too m any cattle feed upon the grass, and toomany fires have burned it. D o not stand upon it w ithout shoes, for* titihoya: a small African bird w ith black wings1
it is rough and sharp, and the stones cut under the feet. It is notkept, or guarded, or cared for; it no longer keeps men, guardsmen, cares for men. T he titihoya does not cry here any more.T he great red hills stand empty, and the earth has torn awaylike flesh. T he lightning flashes over them , the clouds pour downupon them , the dead streams come to life, full o f the red blood o fthe earth. D ow n in the valleys w om en struggle to w ork the soilthat is left, and the corn hardly reaches the height o f a man. Theyare valleys o f old m en and old w om en, o f m others and children.T he m en are away, the young m en and the girls are away. T he soilcannot keep them any more.C hapter 2T he LetterT he small child ran im portantly to the w ood-and-iron churchw ith the letter in her hand. N ext to the church was a house andshe knocked shyly on the door. T he R everend Stephen Kumalolooked up from the table w here he was writing, and he called,‘C om e in.’T he small child opened the door, carefully, like one w ho isafraid to open carelessly the door o f so im portant a house, andstepped shyly in.‘I bring a letter, umfundisi.’*‘A letter, eh? W here did you get it, my child?’‘From the store, umfundisi. T he w hite man asked me to bringit to you.’‘T hat was good o f you. Go well, small one.’ B ut she did notgo at once. She rubbed one foot against the other, she rubbedone finger along the edge o f the um fundisi’s table.‘Perhaps you m ight be hungry, small one.’* umfundisi: a Zulu title for a priest2
‘N o t very hungry, umfundisi.’‘Perhaps a little hungry.’‘Yes, a little hungry, umfundisi.’‘Go to the m other then. Perhaps she has some food.’‘I thank you, umfundisi.’She walked delicately, as though her feet m ight do harm in soareat a house, a house w ith tables and chairs, and a clock, and aplant in a pot, and many books, m ore even than the books at theschool.Kumalo looked at his letter. It was dirty. It had been in manyhands, no doubt. It came from Johannesburg; now there inJohannesburg were many o f his ow n people. His brother John,who was a carpenter, had gone there, and had a business o f hisown. His sister G ertrude, 25 years younger than he, and the childof his parents’ old age, had gone there w ith her small son to lookfor the husband w ho had never com e back from the mines. Hisonly child Absalom had gone there, to look for his auntGertrude, and he had never returned. And indeed many otherrelatives were there, though none so near as these. It was hard tosay from w hom this letter came, for it was so long since any o fthese had w ritten that one did not well rem em ber their w riting.He turned the letter over, but there was nothing to show fromwhom it came. H e was unwilling to open it, for, once such athing is opened, it cannot be shut again.He called to his wife, ‘Has the child gone?’kShe is eating, Stephen.’Let her eat then. She brought a letter. D o you know anythingabout a letter?’How should I know, Stephen?’No, that I do not know. Look at it.’She took the letter and felt it. B ut there was nothing in thetc)uch o f it to tell from w hom it m ight be. She read out theaddress slowly and carefully:3
‘R everend Stephen Kumalo,St M ark’s C hurch,N dotsheni,Natal.’She gathered up her courage, and said, ‘It is not from our son.’‘No,’ he said. ‘It is not from our son.’‘Perhaps it concerns him,’ she said.‘Yes,’ he said. ‘T hat may be so.’‘It is not from G ertrude,’ she said.‘Perhaps it is my brother John.’‘It is not from John,’ she said.They were silent, and she said, ‘H ow we desire such a letter,and w hen it comes, we fear to open it.’‘W h o is afraid?’ he said. ‘O pen it.’She opened it, slowly and carefully, for she did not open manyletters. She spread it out open, and read it slowly and carefully, sothat he did not hear all that she said.‘R ead it out loud,’ he said.She read it, reading as a Zulu w ho reads English.‘TH E M ISSIO N H O U SE ,SO PH IATO W N,J O H A N N E SB U R G .September 25th, 1946.M y dear brother in Christ,I have had the experience o f meeting a young woman here inJohannesburg. Her name is Gertrude Kumalo, and I understand she isthe sister o f the Reverend Stephen Kumalo, St Mark's Church,Ndotsheni. This young woman is very sick, and therefore I ask you tocome quickly to Johannesburg. Come to the Reverend TheophilusMsimangu, the Mission House, Sophiatown, and there I shall give yousome advice. I shall also fin d a place fo r you to live, where the cost willnot be very serious.4
I am, dear brother in Christ,Yours faithfully,THEOPHILUS M SIM A N G UThey were both silent till at long last she spoke.‘Well, my husband?’‘Yes, w hat is it?’‘This letter, Stephen. You have heard it now.’‘Yes, I have heard it. It is not an easy letter.’‘It is not an easy letter. W hat will you do?’‘Has the child eaten?’She went to the kitchen and came back w ith the child.‘Have you eaten, my child?’‘Yes, umfundisi.’‘T hen go well, my child. And thank you for bringing theletter.’‘Stay well, umfundisi. Stay well, m other.’‘Go well, my child.’So the child went delicately to the door, and shut it behindher gently, letting the handle turn slowly like one w ho fears to letit turn fast.W hen the child had gone, she asked, ‘W hat will you do,Stephen?’‘About what, my wife?’She said patiently to h im ,‘A bout this letter, Stephen.’He thought for a m om ent. ‘B ring me the St C had’s money,’ hesaid.She went out, and came back w ith a tin, o f the kind in whichthey sell coffee, and this she gave to him. H e held it in his hand,studying it, as though there m ight be some answer in it, till at lastshe said,‘It must be done, Stephen.’How can I use it?’ he said. ‘This m oney was to send Absalomto St C had’s College.’Absalom will never go now to St C had’s.’5
‘H ow can you say that?’ he said sharply ‘H ow can you say sucha thing?’‘H e is in Johannesburg,’ she said, wearily. ‘W hen people go toJohannesburg, they do not com e back.’‘You have said it,’ he said. ‘It is said now. This m oney w hichwas saved for that purpose will never be used for it. You haveopened a door, and because you have opened it, we must gothrough. And G od alone knows w here we shall go.’‘It was not I w ho opened it,’ she said, hurt by his words. ‘It hasa long time been open, but you would not see.’‘We had a son,’ he said w ith feeling. ‘Zulus have manychildren, but we had only one son. H e w ent to Johannesburg, andas you said —w hen people go to Johannesburg, they do not comeback. They do not go to St C had’s, to learn that knowledgew ithout w hich no black man can live. They go to Johannesburg,and there they are lost, and no one hears o f them at all. And thism oney‘You are hurting yourself,’ she said.‘H urting myself? H urting myself? I do not hurt myself, it isthey w ho are hurting me. M y own son, my ow n sister, my ownbrother. T hey go away and they do not w rite any more. Perhaps itdoes not seem to them that we suffer. Perhaps they do not care.’His voice rose into loud and angry words, till she cried out athim, ‘You are hurting me also.’H e came to him self and said to her quietly, ‘That I may notdo.’ H e held out the tin to her. ‘O pen it,’ he said.W ith shaking hands she took the tin and opened it. Sheem ptied it out over the table; some old and dirty notes, and aflood o f small change. She counted it slowly.‘Twelve pounds, five shillings and seven pence.’‘I shall take,’ he said, ‘eight pounds, and the shillings andpence.’‘Take it all, Stephen. There may be doctors, hospitals, other
tro u b le s Take it all. A nd take the Post Office Book - there is tenpounds in it - you must take that also.’i have been saving that for your oven,’ he said.‘That cannot be helped,’ she said. ‘And that other money,though we saved it for St C hads, I had m eant it for your newblack clothes, and a new black hat, and new w hite collars.’‘T hat cannot be helped either. Let me see, I shall g o . . . ’‘Tomorrow,’ she said.‘From Carisbrooke.’He rose heavily to his feet, and w ent and stood before her. ‘Iam sorry I hurt you,’ he said.‘I shall go and pray in the church.’He went out o f the door, and she watched him through thelittle window, walking slowly to the door o f the church. T hen shesat down at his table, and put her head on it, and was silent, w iththe patient suffering o f black w om en, w ith the suffering o fw orking animals, w ith the suffering o f any that are mute. All roads lead to Johannesburg. Through the long nights thetrains pass to Johannesburg. T he lights o f the m oving coach fallon the grass and the stones o f a country that sleeps. Happy theeyes that can close.Chapter 3D eparture from N d otsh en iIt is interesting to wait for the train at Carisbrooke, while itclimbs up out o f the great valley. Those w ho know can tell youwith each whistle where it is, at w hat road, w hat farm, w hat river,h u t though Stephen Kumalo has been there a full hour before heneeds, he does not listen to these things. This is a long way to go,and a lot o f m oney to pay. A nd w ho knows how sick his sistermay be, and what m oney that may cost? And if he has to bringer back, what will that cost too? And Johannesburg is a great7
city, w ith so many streets they say that a man can spend his daysgoing up one and down another, and never the same one twice.O ne must catch buses too, but not as here, w here the only busthat comes is the right bus. For there, there are so many buses,and only one bus in ten, one bus in twenty maybe, is the rightbus. If you take the w rong bus, you may travel to quite someother place. And they say it is dangerous to cross the street, butone needs to cross it. For there a w om an o f Ndotsheni, w ho hadgone there w hen her husband was dying, saw her son killed inthe street. Twelve years old and m oved by excitem ent, he steppedout into danger, but she stopped for a m om ent. And under hereyes the great lorry crushed the life out o f her son.And the great fear too - the greatest fear since it was so rarelyspoken. W here was their son? W hy did he not w rite any more?There is a last whistle and the train is near at last.As all country trains in South Africa are, it was full o f blacktravellers. O n this train indeed there were not many others, forthe Europeans o f this district all have their cars, and hardly travelby train any more. Kumalo climbed into the section for nonEuropeans, already full o f people o f his race. T he day was warm,and the smell strong. But Kumalo was a hum ble man and di
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